Salvation (3 page)

Tom’s flush deepened. He should never have come after all.

‘Only a little pleasantry, you mustn’t take everything so to heart,’ Lamotte said more kindly. ‘Well, I’ll make you an offer. We stay here a few more days to play for the Countess of Pembroke. I’ll read the rest of your play and tell you what I think before we leave. Will that please you?’

A surge of delight went through Tom. ‘More than I can say. Thank you a thousand times.’

Lamotte grinned. ‘I’ve not given you my opinion yet. Save your thanks until I have. Come and see me the day after tomorrow. We lodge at the Blue Boar.’

As Tom left the tent, his blood tingled. He found Adam still snoring under the alder tree and shook him. ‘Home now, if you can stand, that is. I’m not carrying you.’

Adam coughed and spat out a gobbet of phlegm. ‘Awright, doan shout.’

Tom sighed. It was going to be a long walk.

They stumbled through the dark streets, Adam weighing down Tom’s shoulder. Long before they reached William Kemp’s house in New Street, his back ached. He dragged Adam the last few steps along the cobbled passage leading to the stables. In the stable yard they disturbed the household’s chickens, making them cluck and fuss about. The cockerel puffed up its wattle and made a run at them, but Tom aimed a kick in its direction and carried on to the outhouse behind the stables. There, with relief, he unloaded Adam onto his straw bed where he settled down to sleep at once.

Tom rubbed his throbbing shoulder. Suddenly tiredness overwhelmed him. He thought of the night watchmen. Most of the revellers would have returned to their homes by now; he would be an object of suspicion and he did not care to be fined or beaten.

He rolled Adam onto his side with his face pressed to the roughcast wall, and lay down beside him. Outside, the chickens were still agitated. Maybe a fox was about. With luck it would carry a few off and serve Kemp right. His nose wrinkled. Christ, Adam stank. In spite of that, he was soon asleep and dreaming of Meg.

*

At cockcrow, he woke with a start and sat up. Dry-mouthed and stiff, even the dim light in the outhouse made his eyes smart.

Adam stirred. ‘Carn’ a man sleep in peace?’ he grumbled.

‘You can if you want but I’ve work to go to and I need something to eat first.’

Outside, chilly tentacles of mist enveloped him. He had almost reached the shed where Kemp kept his pig for fattening when he heard something move. It didn’t sound like the pig shifting in its straw. Was it a fox, perhaps? No, foxes moved more stealthily than that. Disorientated by the mist, he froze when the sound came again, much closer this time. Too fast for him to resist, something coarse, scratchy and smelling of dung dropped over his head. Chaff filled his throat, choking him. With a bruising thud, he hit the ground; his lungs felt as if they would burst and pinpricks of scarlet light danced before his eyes. Pain seared his wrists and ankles as someone roped them.

‘That’ll hold you for a while,’ a familiar voice said.

Tom struggled as he was dragged across the yard. Sharp flints ripped his shirt and cut into his flesh, but before long, the ground softened and something crackled beneath him. He must be on straw. The sack came off and he gulped air, starting off another fit of choking. Through his
streaming eyes, he saw the sloe-black, button eyes of Kemp’s pig close by him. It squealed and backed away, then braced its legs and let out a stinking stream of piss. With difficulty, Tom jerked his head sideways to avoid it.

‘So, Tom Goodluck, how do you like your new bedfellow?’

Ralph Fiddler.

‘Something in your throat, Tom?’ he asked silkily.

‘A drink, give me a drink,’ Tom wheezed.

‘You’re in luck. I know Adam’s secret.’ Ralph rifled through a pile of straw in a corner and produced a dusty bottle.
He pulled out the cork and sniffed the contents.

‘Even Adam might not want this, but it won’t kill you.’

He put the rim of the bottle to Tom’s lips. Tom spluttered as most of the liquid ran down his chin, but his coughing gradually subsided and he started to struggle again.

Ralph tossed the bottle back into the straw. ‘I’d stop that if I were you. Waste of time fighting. I tie good knots.’ He bent down and grinned into Tom’s face. ‘Now what shall we talk about?’

‘Let me go, you bastard. I’ve nothing to say to you.’

Ralph gave a nasty laugh. ‘Oh, I think you’ll find we have plenty to say to each other. I have your best interests at heart. You should listen if you care for your own hide,’ he lowered his voice, ‘and for sweet Mistress Stuckton’s.’

Tom froze. Had Meg’s maid, Bess, suspected something and gossiped? He should have known there might be more than one reason why Ralph dallied with her.

Ralph raised an eyebrow. ‘I see we understand each other.’

‘What do you want, Fiddler? If it’s money, you must know I don’t have any.’

‘No, not money.’

‘What then? If it’s sport you’re after, untie me and we can fight fair and square.’

‘And give up the advantage I’ve won? Do you take me for a fool?’

‘A fool would have more honour, you bastard.’

‘Curse me all you like, it will do you no good, but a civil tongue might.’

‘Ask for what you want. If it’s in my power, I’ll give it to you, then let there be an end to this.’

‘Yes it’s in your power.’ Ralph paused, smiling. ‘I want you gone.’

Tom’s heart plummeted.

Ralph squatted down and began to trace a pattern in the dust with his forefinger, then glancing at the cautiously advancing pig, picked up a stone and shied it at its glistening, pink snout. With an angry grunt, the animal retreated to the corner of the shed.

‘Forgive the interruption. The brute is fascinated by the misfortunes of others. Much like our own species, don’t you agree?’

‘What if I refuse?’

‘You’d be making a foolish mistake. What use would you be to Mistress Meg after Stuckton finished with you? Then there’s her fate. I wonder what he would do to her – beat her? Lock her up? That’s if he was merciful.’

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘I’m offering you the chance of a lifetime,’ Ralph sneered. ‘You can take your grammar school learning with you and go to London to seek your fortune.’

Tom groaned. There was no denying he had often dreamt of
London, but always with the hazy idea that somehow, he would take Meg with him. Then a flicker of hope stirred. If he pretended to agree, Ralph might lower his guard.

‘If you’re thinking of playing tricks,’ Ralph said, ‘I warn you there’s someone else who knows the same as I do about you and Mistress Stuckton. Even if you rid yourself of me, it will make no difference to your fates.’

Tom watched Ralph’s eyes. Did he mean Bess, or was he bluffing? It was impossible to be sure.

‘Very well, I’ll go. But you must swear you’ll do her no harm afterwards.’

Ralph gave a wolfish grin. ‘I’ll be gentle as a lamb.’

‘Touch her and I promise you, one day, I’ll be back to break every bone in your body.’

‘Only a jest. Edward Stuckton is too big a man for me.’ He glanced out at the mist drifting across the yard. ‘The sun will be up soon. Time we were away. I have your word you’ll go quietly?’

Tom nodded, but it was a struggle to resist the urge to attack Ralph as he untied his bonds. Freed, he staggered up and they walked out into the dawn. Beyond
New Street, the reek of the town ditch greeted them as they passed by. They skirted the deserted market place and went on towards the Winchester gate. A night watchman, yawning home to bed, gave them an incurious glance.

At the gate, the porter had already opened the massive oak doors and gone back inside his lodge to warm himself by his fire. Ahead, the road snaked upwards to the sheep-scattered plain.

Ralph stopped. ‘You can go on alone from here.’ He tossed a small purse at Tom and it fell to the ground. Tom stooped to pick it up. Inside he found a handful of coins – enough for a few days’ food.

‘I suppose you expect thanks?’

‘As you wish.’

Tom gave a curt nod then swallowed hard. ‘Swear to me again you won’t harm her.’

Ralph shrugged. ‘I’ve already told you that.’

With a swift movement, Tom seized him by the collar of his shirt. ‘Swear it,’ he hissed.

Ralph’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t be a fool.’

For a moment, they held each other’s gaze then Tom’s shoulders slumped and he let Ralph go.

‘That’s better,’ Ralph said coolly. ‘Now be on your way.’

Without another word, Tom set off. It was a steep climb out of the valley and in spite of the morning chill he was warm by the time he reached the ridge. There, he stopped to rest.
He wrapped his threadbare cloak around him and gazed at the city below. Its walls glowed in the morning sunshine and the mist had rolled away to reveal the silver ribbon of the Avon threading through the green fields. The spire of the great cathedral soared into the pale blue sky. The image of Meg rose in his mind. She was probably asleep, unaware they would never see each other again.

Rage seized him. He had to go back; he would kill Ralph if it was the only way.

Then a chill entered his veins. If Ralph had spoken the truth, the risk of exposure was too great. He might destroy Meg’s life as well as his own. His heart’s battle with his head was soon over. It was a chance he dared not take.

Wretched, he turned and walked away.

2

‘Is there something you’re not telling me, child?’

S
at with her mother in the parlour at Stuckton Court later that day, Meg’s head swam. It was a question she had dreaded ever since Tom had stayed so late on their last morning together. With a great effort, she steadied her voice.

‘What do you mean, Mother?’

‘By the time I was your age, I had given birth to both your brothers. Edward wants an heir and your task is to give him one.’ She tapped a be-ringed finger on the arm of her chair, ‘It is a year since you married.’

Meg’s head cleared. They were still safe. It was only her mother’s usual reproach - the subject she fastened on with increasing frequency, like a terrier shaking a rat. She could not bear to listen to it yet again.

‘Perhaps it is not God’s will that I should have a child,’ she said, lowering her eyes.

‘God’s will? God’s will? What nonsense you talk, child. Why should the Lord concern himself with you?’ Anne Bailey’s eyes narrowed. ‘Edward does come to your bed? You do not deny him? It is a wife’s duty to submit to her husband, let no one say I haven
’t taught you that.’

Meg’s knuckles blanched. ‘I never wanted to marry Edward, you knew that.’

‘Your father and I did what was best for you.’

‘Marrying me to a man I could never love? Was that what was best for me?’ Meg bit her lip as tears sprang to her eyes.

‘It is not your place to question our judgement.’

‘I’m not a child, Mother.’

‘No, and by now you should have learnt to accept the way the world works and be grateful. Most women would be proud to be mistress of such a house as this.’

Anne Bailey rose from her chair
with a frown and shook out her silk skirts. ‘This floor is dusty. You must be harsher with the servants. The house was without a mistress for far too long after poor Jane Stuckton died. They have become slack.’ She glanced around the room. ‘That silver jug is tarnished and the fire irons are black with soot.’

Meg coloured, but she did not want to prolong the argument or the visit by retaliating so she remained silent.

‘Well, I must return home,’ her mother sniffed. ‘Your father has visitors coming to do business this afternoon. They will want refreshments and I must make sure the new cook prepares them properly.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Think on what I’ve said. It surprises me you do not seem to share my concern. Even if Edward doesn’t chide you now, the time will come, I assure you.’

Meg did not trust herself to speak.

At the door, her mother turned. ‘I know these things don’t always run smoothly,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should consult a physician. There are herbs, cupping to correct the humours…’

‘Please, Mother, not yet. Something will happen. I’m sure it will.’

‘Very well, we shall wait, but for all our sakes, I hope you are right.’

She swept out, leaving a lingering scent of expensive sandalwood in her wake. Meg buried her face in her hands. A child was only the half of it. If Mother ever found out about Tom, imagine how ferocious her reaction would be. With a shudder, Meg pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She must compose herself. At least she had a few hours alone before Edward returned from inspecting his farms.

She picked up the embroidery she had neglected for days and sat down on the scarlet-cushioned window seat, but after a few stitches, the canvas slipped to the floor. Was this all life held for her? Married to a man she could not love; trapped in a gloomy house that surrounded her like an ugly cloak she did not want to wear? She leant her cheek against the stone mullion and felt the warmth it had absorbed from the morning’s sun. Its smooth texture reminded her of Tom’s lean, hard body. All at once, such a strong rush of longing and sorrow went through her that she almost cried out.

She
still sat by the window when, close to dusk, she heard the clatter of hooves on cobbles. There was a hammering at the front door and a voice she did not recognise spoke briefly with Stephen, the steward. She looked out and saw a man vault onto his horse and ride away. It was late for a messenger to come to the house. She wondered what news he had brought.

A few moments later, there were hurrying footsteps on the stairs and an urgent knock at the door. Wide eyed and flustered, Bess rushed in.

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Meg frowned.

‘The master sent to say he isn’t coming home, madam.’

Meg repressed a guilty surge of relief. ‘Oh? Is that all? Did he say why?’

Bess drew a deep breath. ‘Something terrible’s happened, madam.’

Meg felt a stirring of irritation. ‘Well?’ she asked sharply.

‘He’s gone to
New Street, madam. Lawyer Kemp’s been found dead in his bed, dead as a doornail, an’ Stephen says Tom Goodluck killed him.’

*

‘It can’t be true, Mother!’

‘The law will be the judge of that when he is caught, but your father and Edward have little doubt in their minds. Why would he run off if he were not guilty? In any case, when Ralph Fiddler went to tell him of Master Kemp’s death, he found a good deal of money at the wretch’s lodgings, far too much for a poor clerk to have come by honestly. The baker’s wife wept and said he must be innocent, but these common women are always fools for a sweet-tongued villain.’ She scrutinised Meg. ‘In any case, what is Tom Goodluck to you now?’

‘Nothing … I just never thought … He was such a gentle boy when we were young.’

‘You are easily swayed, child. Ralph Fiddler told your father and Edward that Tom Goodluck had a violent temper if he was crossed. Fiddler said he was even afraid for himself at times. Master Kemp often had reason to chastise Tom for idleness and bad work, but instead of accepting the rebukes humbly and learning from them, he often boasted he would be revenged on his master one day. Mark me, his father came to no good and bad blood will always out.’

Meg stiffened. Her sweet Tom was not a murderer, she was sure of it. She wanted to cry out against the injustice of it all but she knew she must resist. She steadied her voice, determined not to let her feelings show.

‘Does anyone know where he has gone?’ she asked.

‘Ralph Fiddler says he often heard him boast he would go and fight in the Low Countries and make his fortune, but I doubt that a coward who kills an old man in his sleep to steal his money would make much of a soldier.’ She smoothed her skirt. ‘Edward thinks Ralph Fiddler is a very able fellow, and the sorrow he showed over his master’s death did him great credit. I shouldn’t wonder if Edward won’t do something for him, now Kemp is gone.’

That was not the Ralph Fiddler Meg recognised from Tom’s description of him. She would be surprised if he felt any grief for Lawyer Kemp’s fate.

‘Fiddler lodges in the house,’ her mother was saying. ‘It was he who found his master. When he returned from the May Day celebration, he was alarmed to see the side door unlocked, but nothing seemed out of place so he decided it must be an oversight. He went up to the attic stairs to make sure Kemp’s servant had returned, and heard him snoring in his bed. Master Kemp had not gone to the celebrations and Fiddler knew he always retired early, so Fiddler was reassured and went to bed as well. In the morning, he began work at his usual time. There was no sign of Tom Goodluck but that did not surprise him. He was concerned, though, that his master had not appeared. Kemp’s servant said he had not seen him so Fiddler went to enquire if he was ill, and that’s when he found the body.’

Anne Bailey stopped and peered at Meg. ‘You’re very quiet, child. Are you quite well?’

‘Only a headache,’ Meg said hastily. ‘It will soon pass, I’m sure.’

Her mother stood up. ‘Well
, I’ll leave you to rest.’ She planted a cool kiss on Meg’s cheek. ‘You must come and visit us soon.’

‘Thank you, Mother.’

The moment the door closed, the tears Meg had restrained brimmed over. Her mind was full of jumbled thoughts. If Tom was innocent, and how could it be otherwise, who had killed William Kemp? She racked her brains and tried to think who might speak up for Tom. Adam, Kemp’s groom, had been at the May Day celebrations. She had seen Tom lead him away, but he had been so drunk it was unlikely he would remember anything that had happened afterwards.

Her stomach churned at the memory of Edward’s descriptions of the cases he presided over as Justice of the Peace. His readiness to believe that any defendant must be guilty, particularly if they were poor and lacked influential friends, had always seemed to her far from any notion of a fair trial. If he was already against Tom, the situation was desperate.

It was some time before she dried her eyes and resolved what she should do. Perhaps all was not lost; this might be the spur they had needed. If Tom had not left Salisbury yet and was hiding somewhere, she must try to find him so they could escape together.

Edward had left the house early that morning. He would not return until it was time for supper. Her heart pounding, she crept to his study and found paper and ink. Hastily, she scrawled a note then dusted it with sand. It seemed an eternity before it was dry enough to shake off, and all the while, her ears strained for any sounds from the rest of the house, but none came.
In the passageway, she closed the door as quietly as she could then hurried back to the parlour. This afternoon, she would slip away to the oak tree where she and Tom left messages for each other. She prayed there would be something from him that would explain everything.

*

The path led through the knot garden Edward’s first wife had laid out: sweet herbs, lavender and roses set in low, neatly clipped hedges, but Meg was oblivious to the heady perfume the flowers gave off. Her heavy silk dress seemed to drag her down and her hair felt damp under her gabled hood. By the time she reached the lime walk and the shade it afforded, her head throbbed.

The ancient oak at the far end was well hidden from prying eyes, but she still glanced over her shoulder to be sure she had not been followed before kneeling at the base of the tree.
With a sharp flint, she scraped away at the earth; her throat was dry. At the first glimpse of the rough, rag paper Tom used, she snatched the letter up and tore it open, scanning the words anxiously. He made no mention of Kemp’s murder.

Dismay overwhelmed her. She pressed her
forehead against the hard ridges of the oak tree’s bark. If Tom had left Salisbury as her mother claimed, he had gone without a word of explanation.

A scarlet-and-black butterfly settled on a patch of sunlit grass nearby, fanning its wings. Tomorrow its life would be over; how she envied it. She bowed her head and several minutes passed before she regained her composure and vowed not to give up hope. Tom would never abandon her in such a cruel way. She had to believe it or she would go mad. She read the letter once more. It was a few days old – it proved nothing. She would come tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after that if she had to. Tom would not fail her.

She planted a kiss on the letter she had brought with her then tucked it among the tree’s roots and refilled the hollow with earth. A handful of moss scattered on top satisfied her that no one but Tom would ever guess the ground had been disturbed.

When she returned to the house, one of the grooms was leading Edward’s mare towards the stable yard. Meg’s head reeled. Oh why did Edward have to come home earlier than expected? Today of all days, she could not face one of his ill-tempered lectures. She bit her lip. There was nothing to be done about it. She must endure his moods as best as she could. Ignoring the groom’s curious glance, she picked up her skirts and hurried on across the cobbles.

Indoors, the lofty, oak-panelled hall was cooler than the garden. Roundels of stained glass brightened the high windows, and the late afternoon sun, streaming through them, cast patches of gold, green and crimson on the stone-flagged floor. Edward sat in his chair by the fireplace, still in his riding clothes.

‘I’m sorry I was not here to greet you, husband,’ she stammered, not meeting his eye.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Reading in the park.’ She held up the book she had taken the precaution of carrying to hide her letter.

He glanced at it then stretched his legs.

‘Idle nonsense. It’s been a hard day and I’m weary. Pull off my boots. This business with old Kemp has the whole city in an uproar, seeing murderers everywhere. Some fools would be afraid of their own shadows. All the same, the sooner Tom Goodluck hangs the better.’

Knelt at his feet, Meg felt her heart give such a violent jolt that she was surprised Edward did not notice anything. If Tom was found, he would have no hope. She struggled to keep her hands from trembling. The leather creaked as she pulled off the first boot.

Edward gave a satisfied grunt. ‘Ah, that’s better. What a pretty thing you are.’ He tilted her chin and bent to cover her lips with his, pushing his tongue into her mouth. His hand moved to fondle her breasts. Meg forced herself not to recoil. When he let her go, she looked down to hide her burning cheeks and busied herself in pulling off his other boot.

‘Tell the servants to serve our meal early,’ he said.